Change The Future
by Payce D. Elui
Summary: Something went wrong at the final battle and Harry was sent hurtling into the past. With no way of getting home, he has to make do with what he can. The dark is rising... Just how much can one boy change the fate of the future?
1. Of 1935

**Author's Note: **Hiii! Well, I'm the kind of person that reads into a type of story (in this case time travel) then feels the need to write one of my own. Ahem. I really shouldn't be doing this, I have two stories already on the go... but whatever. Inspired by fic "Juxtaposition" by prone2dementia - I definitely recommend- (as well as many others in the genre). Its a shame that there isn't much of this kind o fic around- if you guys can recommend anything, I'd be happy to check it out. I don't mind slash :) (This fic is not Slash/Yaoi, but more a dark/rivalry friend/enemy thing.) I'm sort of writing this on the fly, so don't expect updates every couple of days. Enjoy :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this

**WARNING: this fic is AU, it will include some screwing about with the Harry Potter timeline and character histories, as well as contain spoilers for the books. Character deaths. Swearing. Rating may change. Sporadic updates...**

**Published: 13 December 2009**

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**Chapter 1: Of 1935**

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The crowds had parted for them. Both of them had said their parts, but in the end there was only one way that the battle could have gone.

The battle of Hogwarts. Casualties strewn on both sides, a circle of spectators surrounding the both of them- there was no escape. His face, twisted into a mask of disgust and hatred, and his lips spat the final curse that would seal both their fates.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The spells hit, both wizards feeling the strain of the power reverberating back into their hands. Harry's wand pushing for disarmament while Voldemort, with the power of the Elder Wand, pushing for death.

But something went wrong.

The Elder Wand was trying to refuse its wielder's wishes. Of course it was! It would not kill it's master! It would not kill it's true wielder!

Where green and red light had met, molten silver and gold was spilling forth.

A light- brighter than anything Harry had ever seen before- enveloped the duelling wizards, blinding those present before finally fading.

Voldemort crumpled to the ground, dead, wand turning to dust in his fingertips.

Harry was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

"Urrghh!"

Harry was in pain.

Scratch that. Harry was in _agony_. The Boy-Who-Lived was no stranger to pain... but this was something else. Worse than anything he had experienced, Cruciatus included- he screamed. The light was pressing in at him from all sides- he couldn't breathe-!

...And then it was over.

Harry flew to the floor with a hard thump, any air that had been left in his lungs forcefully being pushed out. He sat up, struggling to see past the blackness threatening to overtake his vision.

World finally coming into focus, he pushed himself roughly to his feet, breathing in the salty air, trying to calm his fast-beating heart. The sun was high in the sky proving for a pleasant day, but... Something felt off.

He wasn't in Hogwarts anymore.

Feeling for his wand, his heart came to a halt when he realised that he didn't have it. Patting himself down, desperately trying to locate it, he came to another startling conclusion. His clothes were about ten sizes too big. And there were no sign of his shoes. He stumbled up a roughly cobbled street unsteadily, ignoring the looks he was getting from the strangely dressed people passing him. He finally came to a halt by a dingy looking newsagents.

It was by chance that his eye caught on the bundle of newspapers sitting innocently outside the shop. It was by chance that Harry had distractedly read the headline. He picked up the paper, hands shaking.

"Young sir? Are you alright?" A concerned feminine voice rang out beside him. Harry didn't hear her. Slowly looking up to catch sight of his reflection in the dirty shop window, green eyes widened behind broken glasses and his face lost all colour.

Swamped in clothes that were ten sizes too big, he didn't look older than eight or nine years old.

The paper dropped from his hands, headline blaring for the world to see.

"**Adolf Hitler Pushing For Conscription- What Is He Planning? May 31****st**** 1935"**

Harry turned on his tail and ran.

* * *

This wasn't possible- it wasn't possible! What- how could this have happened?! How was this even _possible_?! Forgetting the previous "hows", Harry came to an abrupt halt, feeling sand pooling between his toes. He was standing on a beach.

Forgetting how he got there... how was he going to get back?

He was alone, wandless, and helpless. He had no way of contacting anyone. He knew no-one! He was in past for God's sake- he looked like a damn _child_! He didn't even know if they'd won the war- if he'd beat Voldemort.

He was alone.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as the weight of the situation finally hit him. Just what was he meant to do?

Feeling his legs going from under him, he plopped to the sandy floor, head in hands. He could hear the quiet sloshing of the ocean spread out before him, but ignored it.

Just another screwed up day in the life of Harry Potter.

* * *

Harry didn't know how long he'd been sat there. He didn't care. He was content to sit on the soft sand, depressed, but someone had been rude enough to run into him. He was kicked forward, face shoved into the sand. Sitting up spluttering out his sandy meal he glared at the two that had interrupted his brooding. He wasn't prepared for what he saw.

A girl who looked around the same age as he did, with short brown hair and a chubby face. A stringy boy with sandy blonde hair who also looked around the same age. There was nothing too remarkable about them, they were dressed rather oddly, but Harry brushed that off. What had caught his eye... what had united the both of them... was the looks on their faces.

Already light skin looked an ashen grey, tears were leaking out of their eyes. They were shaking. They looked _terrified_.

Feeling something that Hermione had once called his "Hero complex" come into play, Harry decided to find out what was wrong to see if he could help. He was the adult of the situation, after all. Even if he didn't look it. And these kids looked like they could use some help.

"Hey- are you alright?" Mentally, he smacked his palm against his forehead. Obviously they weren't alright. He decided to take another route. "What are your names?" The kids stayed silent, shrinking back in fear. Harry felt his eyebrows furrow. Something was definitely wrong here. He opened his mouth again, when a voice rung out behind him.

"Amy. Dennis. We have to go- we can't keep Mrs Cole waiting now, can we? We're going _home _soon." A voice that sounded a little older, (if not a little bratty), than the boy whose mouth it was coming out of. Harry spun around to face a boy who looked startlingly familiar. Dark hair and dark eyes- he heard the girl behind him give a strangled whimper.

It couldn't be-

"Amy Benson! Dennis Bishop! Tom! Where did you three run off to? I told you to stay with the group!" A middle aged, familiar looking, lady run up to the four children and was about to start scalding them when she noticed the state of "Amy" and "Dennis". The two children launched themselves at her, wrapping their arms around her legs. She looked at them, bewildered, before seemingly putting two and two together and glaring at "Tom".

"You- what did you _do_?" She hissed out in a strained voice, trying to comfort the two howling children.

Dark eyes glared back at her defiantly. "I didn't do anything. _Ask_ them if you don't believe me." The woman pulled the kids away from her, asking them if what the other boy was saying was true. All she had gotten was twin frightened glances at Tom before both children had shaken their heads in the negative and launched themselves at her again.

Harry looked on in barely disguised horror. There was no way-

"You, boy- where are your parents? It's getting late, you should be getting home." The woman was addressing him. Harry swallowed. Just what was he supposed to say? Defenceless, he didn't want to be anywhere near- "Boy, can't you hear me?" Green eyes snapped to her face.

His mouth opened, then shut again as he looked away. He had no way of contacting anyone. He had no money and no magic. He was alone, and in the past. And he did need a place to stay while he sorted this out...

And if memory served him correctly... Tom Riddle was on a trip with his orphanage. He glanced uncertainly at the boy stood beside him. Glittering dark eyes- so different from the crimson they would be in the future- stared appraisingly back at him. Harry swallowed his nervousness. He had been ready to fight this nightmare back home- he wasn't going to back down to some bratty _child_.

Looking the lady in the eyes, he finally spoke. "I- I don't have any parents- they're dead."

He saw Tom shift, his eyes narrowed.

Harry Potter didn't know what he had just gotten himself into.

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**Author's Note:** Well then? What do you think? Tom is around 9 here, due to be 10 in the December. Harry is 8, due to be 9 in the July. But that'll be explained next chapter. I'm going by roughlly the history of what is going on at the time with WW2, but don't kill me if its a little screwed up xD. Til next time!

**Please R&R**


	2. Of A New Home

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the support guys :) Enjoy chapter 2! (I tried adding this story to fictionalley/schnoogle... but it's too complicated for me to figure out, so I was like.... forget it! Haha xD

**HAPPY HOLIDAYS! :)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this

**WARNING: this fic is AU, it will include some screwing about with the Harry Potter timeline and character histories, as well as contain spoilers for the books. Character deaths. Swearing. Rating may change. Sporadic updates...**

**Published: 20 December 2009  
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**Chapter 2: Of A New Home**

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"Who's he?"

"Why is he here?"

"Did you see that scar he has?"

"He looks kinda like Tom."

"No he doesn't!"

Harry sat trying to burrow himself deeper into the lumpy seat on the rickety bus he was sitting in. He really hated people talking about him.

The lady that he had recognised earlier had in fact been Mrs. Cole, matron of the orphanage that Tom belonged to. He had recognised her from a Penseive memory that Dumbledore had shown him. Though she wasn't nearly as elderly looking as in the memory, she still had that same sharpness to her face that Harry had seen before, and her dirty blonde hair was already beginning to show the signs of aging into a wispy grey. On discovering that he was a suspected orphan, she decided to take him in. She didn't know if she could trust the word of a child on what he said, but she'd leave word at the police station in case anyone went looking for him. At least he'd be well looked after until then.

The bus finally pulled over, and the children were ushered out. Harry looked out at the dingy street with a frown. The orphanage looked like a dull place to be. A simple building in washed out colours, it looked like it sucked the happiness out of its surroundings. In that moment he felt a pang of sympathy for Tom, but it was quickly quashed. The children were sent into the building, and Harry was led into Mrs. Cole's office.

* * *

"Now Harry," she started off, glancing at the green eyed boy. "You understand that I'm going to leave word with the authorities that you're here in case anyone comes looking for you, yes?" Harry nodded. The elder woman gave a small smile. "So while you don't have anywhere to go, we'll need some information, alright?" Harry nodded again. "So then, first I'll need your full name?"

Harry bit his lip. Crap. He hadn't thought this through at all. He was a trespasser in the past- he couldn't just use his real name. He didn't even know how long he was going to be there for... Quickly deciding on a name, he let out a quick breath. "It's Harry Peverell." Thinking on it, he decided he'd made a good choice. The name didn't really have much significance in any recent wizarding history- it had pretty much died out. Most people who knew of them thought that the Peverell brothers were a myth, that they didn't exist. But with the name, Harry could either pass it off as coincidence or that he was actually a descendent. Technically he was. The name gave him a link to the wizarding world, something that he felt he would need now that he was alone.

"Peverell? That's a little strange, but it's uncommon. If anyone is looking for you, it won't be hard to find you. When's your birth date?"

"July 31st, 1927," Harry replied promptly. That part he had thought out.

"So that makes you... eight... nine in a few months time..." The woman trailed off, considering something. Harry nodded slowly, not liking the look that he was receiving. The woman suddenly smiled. "Well Mr Peverell, I think I have the perfect place to put you. You see, most of the children here are a few years older or younger than you. There is one boy, however, who is quite similar in age to you." Harry felt a sick turn in his stomach at where this conversation was going. "We don't know how long you'll be here for, so I think putting you with him for a while will be good for the both of you." She smiled and began leading Harry out of the room. Harry noticed that her smile way fraying at the edges. She was clutching at straws. "Tom needs a friend, I think." She seemed to be reassuring herself more than anyone else.

"We need to get you some new clothes, too. The ones you're wearing are just hanging off you!"

Harry let himself be pulled to his doom.

* * *

Silence.

The dark eyed, dark haired boy was staring- glaring at him from atop his bed across the room. Harry glared defiantly back. It was kind of funny, if you thought about it. A nine year old kid, not even powerful enough to be called a shell of his future self, trying to intimidate him. Harry would not be intimidated. As long as he was here- he had no idea how long that would be, he wasn't going to allow some brat to act all high and mighty over him.

Tom suddenly sighed in annoyance. "I don't want you here." Well that was blunt. "How long are you planning on staying?"

Harry blinked. Yup, the boy sounded more like a brat if anything. He shrugged. Tom's glare intensified, now with an added sneer. "I bet someone's going to come looking for you." Raising an eyebrow, Harry shook his head.

"No, I told you- I don't have any family." Tom was giving him that look again, and Harry scowled, not liking it one bit. It made him feel like a bug under a microscope. Suddenly, a short: "Shut the light, I'm tired" came from the direction of the other boy, and Tom had rolled over in his bed, ignoring Harry completely. Glaring at the back of Tom's head, he sighed, and got up. Not that he wanted to obey Tom's request- it was more of an order, anyways, he went to shut the light. He ambled back to his bed in the darkness. He did not want to sleep in the same room as Tom Riddle. But it looked like he had no choice. Glasses taken off and put to the side, Harry fell into a fitful sleep with downturned lips, mind filled with dreams if what was happening back home.

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Harry Peverell was rudely awoken by a shrill bell going off right next to his ear. Crying out, he struggled within the sheets before falling to his doom. He hit the flood with a bodily _'thud'_, cursing under his breath. Struggling to sit up, he finally succeeded, and glanced around for the cause of that hellish ringing. His eyes came to rest on a brick sized, clunky looking alarm clock. Bringing the clock close to his face so that he could see the time, he noticed it read 6AM. Groaning, he looked around the room.

Tom's bed was neat, and the boy was gone.

'_Why that little- he did that on purpose!'_

Swearing, he hauled himself off the floor. He was going to give that brat a piece of his mind! He felt around for where he'd put his glasses the day before, and to his annoyance- they weren't there.

Damn.

Frantically feeling around- he might have knocked them somewhere in his sleep- he came to an irritating conclusion. They weren't_ there_.

The door suddenly burst open, and Harry turned to face the blurry blob of a person.

"Looking for something?" The half-smug voice commented.

Tom.

And Harry realised that he hadn't just misplaced his glasses. That prat had taken them!

It was going to take all his energy not to murder this brat.

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**Authors Note:** lol, my primary school head teacher was called Mrs Cole xD. Next chapter is gonna encompass a few events of a couple of days at the orphanage, and the one after that is a time-skip.

**Please R&R**


	3. Of Feelings

**Author's Note: **Voila. (Sorry if I haven't replied to some of the reviews, the alert system of the website seems to have gone funny, and isn't telling me I've got new ones... :( . I have no idea how to reply if I don't get an email about it lol. But they are all appreciated xD) Yeah, if this chapter feels a little off, remember, it's meant to encompass a few random snapshots events over the next few days/months- so these events don't occur over the same day. Happy New Year xD

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this

**WARNING: this fic is AU, it will include some screwing about with the Harry Potter timeline and character histories, as well as contain spoilers for the books. Character deaths. Swearing. Rating may change. Sporadic updates...**

**Published: 02 January 2010**

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**Chapter 3: Of Feelings**

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He ignored the whispers at breakfast. Surveying the other children with owlish eyes- Tom had given his glasses back in the end, though a lens had _"mysteriously"_ been cracked- he pushed down the slightest feeling of irritation as he realised that the other children were avoiding him.

"You can't go near him-"

"He shares a room with _Tom_."

Because that seemingly explained everything.

He pretended that their aversion didn't bother him- because it didn't really- he only had to cope for a while, and then he would be gone.

He ignored the fact that both he and Tom had an entire side of the large table to themselves as the breakfast hour continued- he pushed down the smallest bit of pity for the Riddle boy, because he had brought this misery on himself.

A laughing voice at the back of his head scolded him for forgetting that children could be so cruel.

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Dressed in clothes that were ill-fitting- the slightest feeling of negative nostalgia in the pit of his stomach reminding him of days with the Dursleys that had long passed- or were going to come to pass, depending on how you thought about it, Harry watched the daily events in the orphanage unfold. He watched as Mrs Cole, all sugar and sweetness up until midday, would raid the locked cupboard for her preferred poison- sherry, and suddenly she didn't care anymore.

Or she cared too much, because the children would play more quietly and would always stay that extra couple of feet back, away from her office when she was in that sort of mood.

On his tenth day at the orphanage, Harry met a young woman named Martha. Dark eyes, dark hair- all pretty plain looking, really, but her personality was... _nice_. She tended to the ill children when Mrs Cole was... unable. A month later, talks of war grew louder and louder in written texts and blazing headlines and Harry wondered with a growing sense of dread when someone was going to come for him.

_If_ someone was going to come for him.

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He didn't belong there. Or so Tom had said. The boy didn't say much to him really- that sense of superiority in his eyes was already pretty firmly set, so Harry didn't seek him out- not that he'd want to anyway. It was true though- he didn't belong there, but he'd never let Tom know how right he actually was.

That aside, though he'd never actively seek the boy out, he couldn't help but observe him when the opportunity presented itself. To Harry, Tom was like a car crash. Sometimes he wouldn't be able to look away from the horrible fascination. He knew what the boy would change into, would become, and here he could observe the boy turned monster and see what made him... _tick_. Though when those dark eyes were turned on him, the disgust and dislike- not quite hatred just yet, but dislike- evident, he'd match the boy's glare until he got bored and finally look away.

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Bill Stubbs was a nasty boy. One of the oldest there, always picking on others. Harry along with others, had found himself winded on more than one occasion. Harry would have thought him rather similar to Crabbe or Goyle, but he seemed to have maybe one or two more brain cells than the two of them. The only person that Billy really stayed away from was Tom, because Tom could make bad things happen.

Until one day, that is, when Billy became a bit too _clever_ for his own good.

Tom- the "freak"- was left with a black eye so swollen that it didn't open, and Harry pretended to ignore the boy's tears.

That night, Billy's pet rabbit was found hanging from the rafters, too high for any child to get up there and commit the act. And even though he knew it was wrong, Harry felt ashamed when he felt the smallest sense of satisfaction at the boy's tears.

Was he happy for the fact that Billy had been crying- he hoped not. It was more likely that he was happy at the fact that the only way Billy's rabbit could have gotten hung at the rafters was through a supernatural act._ Magic_. Even though Tom was Tom... knowing that he wasn't alone in his... talents... it was nice.

When he had entered his shared room with Tom and Billy's howls continued to make it through the door, he pretended not to notice the shameless smirk that made its way across Tom's cracked lips, or how his own lips twinged upwards in response.

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When he had first met them they had been terrified. They had been fleeing, eyes cast wide and running as fast as their legs could take them from some terror that Tom had inflicted upon them in a deserted cave on a pretty little beach. It was almost two months later and Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were still little more than mute.

They stayed away from Tom- staying together- and would do their best to say out of his sight. If he entered a room, they were on their way out almost immediately. And if anyone brought the subject up, their skin would pale, their eyes would fill with tears and they'd be stuttering for the rest of the week.

Harry would know. He'd tried to question them quite a few times.

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Three months into his time at the orphanage, because of no particular fault of his own, Harry had found himself outcast from the rest of the children's company. Though it wasn't completely their fault, he supposed. He'd kept to himself quite a lot, making little more than sparse contributions to conversations, and he really couldn't help it... not really.

Harry Peverell was going through a few changes.

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It was hard to separate the Tom of today from the Voldemort of years later. Sometimes Harry would feel inexplicable rage towards the dark haired orphan whose room he was sharing. He'd feel the rage that was just so foreign- but so not- to him, pulsing in his veins, telling him that if he was to do one thing before he left, it was to make sure that this boy never grew to become the man that he would. But he couldn't. Harry Potter- no, Harry Peverell- wasn't murderer.

And if he had learned anything from that incident with the time turners, it was that you couldn't screw with the future, no matter how much you wanted to. Because for all the wrong that Voldemort had done, he was sure that he had won that war. He was sure that together, they had ended his mad man reign of terror. And even though people had died- some right in front of him, he recalled, with a painful lurch of his stomach- things looked like they had turned out alright in the end. If he killed Tom now... and some days he really had considered it- he would be destroying everything that they had worked for. The future that they had built would lie in ruins.

Aside from rage, on other days, he'd feel pity. Or curiosity. Or some other feelings that he didn't quite feel like putting names on.

And that day, when he watched Tom sitting on the windowsill, eyes trained on the skies, on the full moon rising above them, Harry didn't know what to feel.

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**Authors Note:** A time skip next chapter, birthdays!- a surprise visit, and Hogwarts is coming up soon. And I'm aiming for a Dark(er)!Harry, but not plain evil. Guh, don't worry if this chapter confuses you a little, it'll all become clear soon.

**02 January, 2010- Extra Note:** Due to the death of a close member of my family, I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out. Family support is more important than anything else at times like these and I _might_ be jetting out of the country for a while after my exams are done with. Where I'm headed doesn't really have internet access, so... yeah. But for now, I'm not sure, so don't count me out, alright? I guess I'll be seeing you guys around.


	4. Of Birthdays

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the support guys, it really meant a lot. It turns out that I'm not leaving the country, but updates might still be a little fuzzy for a while. I finished my exams of Friday, and tried to get this out as fast as I could for the deadline. Thank you all again. I apologise for the shortness, but I didn't want to leave you all hanging for the next month. It's short, but it's interesting. I'll try and the chapters from here on out at least over 3000 words, as I for one hate short chapters myself. :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this

**WARNING: this fic is AU, it will include some screwing about with the Harry Potter timeline and character histories, as well as contain spoilers for the books. Character deaths. Swearing. Rating may change. Sporadic updates...**

**Published: 17 January 2010**

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**Chapter 4: Of Birthdays**

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On Harry's ninth birthday, Mrs Cole gifted him with a knitted sweater, a few pennies and some new glasses- (his others still had the crack running over one eye). A rather bland set of presents compared to what he had gotten used to back at home, but it couldn't be helped, and he was still thankful. Tom had given him nothing, but that was to be expected- he hadn't exactly gone to buy Tom anything either.

To say that the next year had passed slowly was a huge understatement in and of itself. Harry supposed that the year itself hadn't been so bad, just the lack of excitement. Watching Tom Riddle in his Natural Habitat, (and yes, Harry capitalised it in his mind), was not nearly as fascinating as he would have thought it to be.

On reflection in his younger (or older, depending how you looked at it) days, Harry had sometimes wondered how Tom Riddle had become Voldemort. How the child in Dumbledore's memories had come to be. Harry had never used to believe that a child could be capable of being evil- it just didn't fit in his mind. Then he had seen the memories and he had rethought his opinion.

Voldemort was Tom Riddle- Tom Riddle was Voldemort. If anyone was destined to be evil from the very beginning, it would have to be the future Voldemort. Though that thought always sent a shiver down the back of his spine. Despite what anyone else had said to disprove any of the lingering traitorous thoughts hissing in the back of his mind, he and Volde- no, Tom- he and Tom had been quite similar from the beginning, even if it had been just from early circumstances.

Harry sometimes wondered what would have happened if the Dursley's had refused to take him in...

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Harry had thought that now he was pretty much a "nobody" in the past- that he wouldn't have to worry about a fan-base. He had been dreadfully wrong.

Over the course of the year, other children at the orphanage noticed that although Harry was keeping himself to himself, he was nobody's pushover. It wasn't that he was outwardly violent- no, it was far from it. But there was an aura around him, one that reflected someone with maturity far beyond their years. Added to the fact that he was coming out night after night from sharing a room with _the _Tom Riddle with not even a scratch...

They had stayed away from him before, for that very reason. Someone who was close to Tom in any way shape or form was someone to be avoided.

Tom wasn't normal.

Tom was... scary.

But Harry wouldn't back down. As time had continued to pass, the children had noticed that instead of leaving the room when Tom entered, Harry would ignore him and carry on with his own tasks. When Tom was intimidating someone- just by looking at them, mind you- nothing that could be traced back to him, Harry would somehow put a stop to it. Tom would give him a look of fury, a look that would have sent the other children running for the safety of an adult lest Tom's wrath be unleashed, but Harry would just simply give him a look that they could not decipher.

But whatever that look was... Once Tom was presented with it, he wouldn't retaliate.

From being shunned- being an outcast, things had taken a drastic change for Harry. He had found himself being flocked by the younger children who were basking in the safety of his shadow, wondering bemusedly when the world had flipped upside down.

Tom would seethe in the background.

* * *

On Harry's tenth birthday, he had had woken up from a fitful sleep to feel an air of ill-concealed excitement permeating the room and a snake looming just inches over his face, fangs bared.

His eyes had widened as the snake let out a leisurely _hiss_ and slowly descended. A quick hiss of _"stop!"_ made it freeze, fangs poised above one of the throbbing arteries in his neck. He could feel them ghosting over his skin as the snaked hissed.

"_**Another**__ sssspeaker?"_

Its voice was tinged in curiosity as its head reared up and away with an almost bemused expression on its... face. Harry realised with a sick jolt of his stomach that it was wound around his neck. He didn't know much about snakes despite how much unfortunate connotations they held in his life, but he wasn't comforted by the fact that it had been preparing to bite him. That, more than anything else proved it was dangerous.

Suddenly the pressure was off as the snake curled back, unwinding from his neck and sliding over and down the top of the covers to the end of his bed where it nestled comfortably. Harry let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, slowly sitting up. Trembling fingers reaching for his glasses, he jammed them onto the bridge of his nose over sleep blurred eyes, careful to keep the snake in his line of vision.

Never let your guard down around a snake- if he'd learned anything in his life- that was it.

"What do you want?" He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little scared. Literally speaking, he was a child. The snake could be poisoned and he was trapped in England in the 1930's with no way home. There was no Fawkes here to cry tears of salvation on him if he got himself hurt though stupidity.

"_I wasss bored,"_ the snake hissed and Harry tried hard not to burst out laughing. Of all the responses that he could have gotten, that was not what he was expecting. A snake with an _attitude_._ "No need to look sssso terrified boy... I will not harm you."_ Its tongue flecked the air and an almost human expression of smugness passed its mouth. The fangs jutting out of its jaw took away from the faux innocence.

"You were about to bite me."

"_I will not harm you... now that I know that you are a ssspeaker..."_ The snake amended. Harry raised an eyebrow as the snake continued. _"Ssspeakers are rare, but they are... interesssting.... It'sss ssso hard to find good conversssation thesssse dayssss."_

Harry swallowed as the snake slid back up the sheets and up his torso. It wound itself loosely around his throat. _"But it looksss assss if I won't be getting any conversssation from you today."_

Harry froze as the snake let out a mocking hiss and slid down around one of his arms. _"Well then, I bessst be going. My job here isss done. As you're not up to convesssing, I believe it would be proper of you to essscort me out. Humansss are troublesssome when it comesss to my kind."_

Harry nodded dumbly, slowly rising from his bed. The moonlight dully illuminating the room glazed over him as he crept towards the door. "What kind of snake are you, anyway?"

"_An adder..."_ Harry frowned. _"Yessss I am poisssoinousss... so don't try anything foolissssh boy..."_

Harry quietly opened the door to his shared room and crept out into the darkened landing.

Five minutes later, as his heart had slowed down to its normal pace and the snake had been let out the back door, Harry re-entered his room to find Tom Riddle sitting bolt upright in his bed. Harry pretended not to notice the calculating look mixed in his dark eyes. It was enough to let him know that the snake in his bed was no coincidence, and that his actions following its discovery were not going to be kept quiet for long.

Climbing back into his own bed, Harry took of his glasses and set them down on the bedside cabinet. He turned to roll onto his side, facing the wall.

He could still feel Tom's burning gaze boring into the back of his head.

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**Authors Note:** Guh, sorry again for the short chapter, but I did have family stuff going on this time. I promise that I'll try and make next chapter at least double this size. Next chapter: Some extended direct Tom and Harry interactions as reactions come into play.

**Please R&R**


	5. Of The Wakeup Call

**Author's Note: **Wahoo, chapter 5! The story really kicks off from here! And holy- its conversation! This chapter is almost entirely conversation! xD. Sorry for the couple of days delay... College tried to eat me :/. It is a little longer though!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this

**WARNING: this fic is AU, it will include some screwing about with the Harry Potter timeline and character histories, as well as contain spoilers for the books. Character deaths. Swearing. Rating may change. Sporadic updates...**

**Published: 02 February 2010**

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**Chapter 5: Of The Wakeup Call.**

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Harry woke early the next day feeling rough. Glasses placed on his nose, a quick glance around the room let him know that aside from him, the room was empty. And here he'd been expecting to find Tom looming over his bed with a knife in hand. No, that was just his imagination running away with him. He snorted, and pulled himself out of bed. He would not bring himself to make the first move. If Tom wanted answers, Tom was going to have to ask. Harry was not going to allow himself to be manipulated by Tom Riddle.

Not again.

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Tom Riddle sat in the back garden of the orphanage. Sitting on the lone swing at the back of the garden, narrowed eyes shooting a laser gaze kept anyone else from approaching him. His thoughts remained on one boy.

Harry Peverell.

The boy was a mystery. A little younger than himself, Harry had first come into the picture that day on the beach. That day when Amy and Dennis had been running from him-

Tom stopped in his thoughts and smirked. He wouldn't be forgetting that day anytime soon.

...Back onto his previous train of thought. Harry had seemed pretty much unfazed when Tom had first appeared. Of course, there was that look- _those looks_ that Tom just could not decipher.

Now Tom considered himself to be adept at reading people. He didn't know how, but he knew how people acted. He knew how to make people to do what they wanted.

But Harry was different, and after that incident the night before...

He was definitely curious.

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Harry was surprised that Tom hadn't jumped straight into the interrogation. He had known Voldemort was never one to be patient, but then that was the problem. Tom wasn't Voldemort. Not yet, anyway.

And so it had taken three months for the approach to take place.

Harry had been busy in his room. He was sitting on his bed, reading the newspaper. World War Two would be kicking off soon, if Harry remembered his history lessons correctly. 1939, to be exact, but the tensions had been running high before that. There was something going on about Japan, right now.

The autumny weather of October was sending the beginnings of a chill down the orphanage, and Harry was isolated from his followers. The door was closed and he was huddled on his bed.

Curse those fan-clubs.

Tom had strolled into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. And he had strolled up to the side of Harry's bed, waiting for Harry to acknowledge him. He'd be waiting for hell to freeze over.

Harry kept his focus on the newspaper... but not really. He was staring at them, but the words were just glazing over the lenses of his glasses. His attention was elsewhere.

Something about leaving his back towards Tom Riddle left a nasty feeling in his stomach. Especially since the snake incident.

So Harry waited.

And waited. And then-

"Look at me." A command issued from Tom in an annoyed tone. "It's not nice to ignore people you know."

"Since when have you wanted to talk to me, _Riddle_?" Harry asked turning to face the, eyebrow arched. Because Harry wasn't feeling hostile at all. He saw a glare alight on the other boy's previously neutral face. Huh- it seemed as if he detested the surname already.

"How long have you been able to do that?" Tom asked, glare still in place. Harry almost smiled. Bless him, _(pity him, send him to hell or make him leave)_, Tom actually thought he looked intimidating.

This was _nothing._

"Been able to do what?" Harry asked, turning away and turning a page. No Harry wasn't feeling provocative at all.

"Tell me! How long have you been able to speak?- To snake's I mean."

The words had gotten rushed towards the end, and Harry could feel the excitement almost become tangible.

"Why?"

"I thought you were an idiot," Tom stated. He didn't seem inclined to answer the question. "I thought you were stupid- stupid like the rest of them are. But you're not- you're like me."

Harry's hands froze.

"Can you do anything else?"

Harry ignored him.

"_You're like me"_

"_So similar we are, Potter..." _That had been what He had said before.

And suddenly he felt sick.

Here he had thought he'd gotten over these issues.

"Harry."

And Harry turned with such a glare that Tom actually faltered. Those green eyes had just ignited into a raging inferno.

"I am _not _like _you._"

He sprung off the bed, flinging the newspaper down and stormed out of the room

And as the door slammed shut behind him, Tom was left bewildered.

Perhaps for the first time in his life.

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Dinner had long since ended since their delightful talk. Tom still wanted answers, and Harry didn't seem inclined to give them. And so he'd come up with a new approach.

Funny, it seemed to take conscious effort not to belittle others... a... _pleasant _conversation seemed a lot more taxing. And required a great deal more thought. Something told Tom that if Harry hadn't been scared of him for the entirely of this time he had been at he orphanage, he wasn't about to start now.

And so, a new strategy was born.

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Harry sat on his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He heard Tom enter and walk over to the shared wardrobe, but ignored the other boy's shuffling about. He had things to think about. Like what he would do when Dumbledore finally showed up. Dumbledore would definitely have the answer, and Harry would be sent home. He'd see Ron, and Hermione, and the Weasleys. Ginny.

He missed them... so much. It had been years. He wondered how much time had passed for them. The same as that had passed for him? He didn't really know how time-travel worked. Being sent to a time before your parents were even born was a vast change from travelling back a few hours with a Time-Turner.

He felt a shadow loom over him, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Here." Tom held out his hand, arm outstretched and something sitting in his palm. He looked away.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"It's- Happy Birthday."

Harry blinked slowly. "What?"

"Just take it, would you?" The tone was going from slightly flustered to annoyed, and Harry was very confused. He slowly picked up the toy. A slightly worn yoyo.

"My birthday was months ago," he stated confused.

"I didn't get you anything."

"You never get me anything. I don't get anything for you either."

"Well, you're my _friend_ now." Harry suddenly felt like a possession.

"No, we're not."

"You're the same as me!"

"No, I'm _not!_" He handed the yoyo back. "That's not even yours- you stole it off one of the other boys."

"You want something of mine?"

"No- I _don't_ want anything from you. No, wait. I want you to leave me alone. I'm not interested in anything you have to say, Tom." Not anymore.

And suddenly Tom looked angry. "I'm being nice to you-"

"So you can get information. That's not being friends."

He turned his back on the other boy.

There was a silence.

And then-

"Well how do you suppose we become friend's then. You aren't too nice yourself."

Harry didn't want to be friends with a future psychopath. The man who's kill his parent and countless others.

But that old curiosity was still lurking; had been since he'd found out just where he was. What made Voldemort- Tom Riddle tick?

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The next morning Harry woke from his sleep feeling fresh and rested. With a yawn he sat up, reaching for his glasses. Glancing over at the alarm clock, he had to look again to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Eight-thirty AM. That was strange. Tom usually set the alarm for six- thought a rude awakening was funny. Or something.

"_Well how do you suppose we become friend's then?"_

Harry wondered not for the first time just what he'd gotten himself into.

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**Authors Note:** Ah Tommy... doesn't know how to socially interact with others unless its to terrify them. Somthing tells me that this is the start of a cute little friendship. A TINY bit longer, but I'm sorry. Once the plot really starts to kick in, I'll have more to write :/. I'll try and keep chapters over at least over 3000 words from then xD. And the updates for this story have suddenly become very sporadic due to the battle against college and family problems :/ But I'll let you know- chapter sizes will sometime vary. Cheers for all the support!

**Next Time:** Events leading up to Tom's eleventh, and a _very _interesting person turns up!


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